


Omelas

by j_marquis



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Heed warnings please, M/M, Torture, War Fic, eye removal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6039265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_marquis/pseuds/j_marquis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sibyl didn't kill Choe Gu-Sung. Who he knew was too important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Omelas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [La_Marquise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Marquise/gifts).



> One last time, please, please heed the warnings. I don't want anyone to be hurt or upset on my behalf. Bonus points (the points mean nothing!) to people who catch all the hideously pretentious Makishima level references.

The machine was digging into his eyes. He couldn't feel it, the eyes were just as mechanical as the drone digging in to them, but he could see it, the tiny needles, delicate claws working away at the robotic prosthetics. They still worked. He didn't know what the drones were looking for. Memories, probably, but they weren't going to find anything. Everything the prosthetics took in was uploaded elsewhere. Sure, he could access the memories, the visuals, the recordings, through them, but there was nothing stored in his eyes. Still, the drones dug through them, pulled one out, then the other and he remembered what it was like to be blind.

He had been blind, so long ago, first coming to Japan he had been blind and bloodied and scared and the island nation had seemed like a sanctuary, a safe haven even as cruel as it was it was better than what he was fleeing. It hadn't been safe. He was forced to learn to hide, moving like a rat through the circuits of the city. He didn't belong. There was no safe haven.

Makishima was a safe haven. Makishima was a war zone, an explosion, a predator in the jungle. He was a sanctuary. Makishima gave him eyes, gave him purpose, gave him a revolution. They were going to change the world. They were going to create society, make the world free once again. Makishima was his home.

He could feel blood trickling down his cheeks like the streaks of tears he was no longer able to shed. Tear ducts were unnecessary when eyes didn't need to water, when your eyes weren't even real. Replaced with mechanics, cybernetics, he had done it to himself, but his eyes had been useless to begin with. Barely capable of making out shapes, movements, he had never seen the faces of his family, or of his captors. He wondered if the eyes they had pulled out could still see, when he got them back if he would be able to access the records of his blood soaked face.

Makishima had given him his eyes, helped him dig out that which was useless and become something needed. And once he had given himself sight, and he saw the strange creature, the half mad golden white revolutionary he knew this was his life and his death and his purpose. That he would follow Makishima to the ends of the Earth, to both their deaths.

He had thought his was coming. He had thought when he saw the robotic body aiming a sentient weapon at him, when he knew the true form of the only control left in the world, he was dead. He had seen something no human was meant to see. He wondered, in a fleeting moment when he thought death was coming, if he was even human anymore. If he had replaced too much of himself with mechanics, technology, built a Frankenstein's monster of spare parts, computers, scar tissue.

How much of Choe Gu-Sung was left?

Sibyl blinded him. Makishima would have told him that was symbolic. That Sibyl was an oracle, a seer, a prophetess made to rule rather than guide and so blinded her subjects. Makishima would have given him speeches about the name, about his state, about what they took from him and about what he had seen. And that voice, normally grating, normally he would give anything to shut Makishima up even for a little while, would have been welcome in the tomb he had been given.

Once, they lay on the sofa, Makishima and himself, the beautiful demon tucked into his side. Makishima had read him books while he worked, stopping occasionally to tell him why that passage, why that story, what they were doing, the world they were creating. And he hadn't quite known where he ended and his savior began, he was an extension of Makishima's revolution, his archangel, his messenger. He was dying alongside Makishima on the barricade to lead people to revelation. 

He was locked away in the bowels of the earth so society could thrive. He suffered so they didn't have to. And when they couldn't take his memories from his eyes they took them from his mind. They took more of his flesh, they replaced it with tubes and wires and circuitry, forced him to breathe. Took his legs so he couldn't run. Pushed plastic tubes and chemicals through his veins when he wouldn't eat. And he was blind and he was still and they thanked him for his service to a country that wasn't his.

Once, he pushed a madman angel to his back and taught him the pleasures of the flesh. Once, he kissed Makishima and told him he would see him on the other side of the war. Once he thought he was creating a new world, not serving the blind prophetess. Once, he had stumbled blind into a foreign land and served a mad king. Once, he had loved an invisible monster, a brilliant broken lonely thing, a killer and a cultivator all. He hated and he loved in equal measure and as he lost time and sense and reason he would have given everything that he was to hear Makishima's voice, to feel his cool, unworked hands.

"What about this one mother?"

"There's no use in keeping it alive. Do what you will."

The last voice he heard was not human.


End file.
